


Mornings

by earthseed_fic



Series: Clint and and Phil In Love [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Pic Fic, Tumblr Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseed_fic/pseuds/earthseed_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For years, Barton was content to simply watch. And then, one day, Clint got to touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this pic of Clark Gregg from Vanity Fair:  
> http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2013/04/photos-tribeca-film-festival-olivia-wilde_slideshow_item17_18

For years Barton was convinced there was no sexier sight than Coulson in a well-cut suit and bland expression, standing cool and collected in the center of whatever chaos-of-the day S.H.I.E.L.D. served up for them. Before Coulson, Barton's competency kink was a minor itch he'd occasionally scratch with well-dressed, confident men he met on the road or on a job. After Coulson, though, that itch became a full-blown, intensely focused obsession. Watching Coulson take out bad guys with office supplies and face down killer robots armed with little more than an exasperated eye roll--to say that Barton was turned on didn't even begin to cover it. He took a lot of cold showers during those years and was happy to just watch.

But then Clint got to touch. And as sexy as Coulson was in a slate grey Tom Ford, it was nothing compared to the sight of Phil, flushed and breathless beneath him, the sight of Phil coming completely undone and chanting Clint's name like a prayer, the sight of his goofy, sated grin as they lay tangled in each other's limbs.

Then there were the mornings he lived for, the ones he never thought he'd have (the ones he was still pretty sure he didn't deserve). The ones where he and Phil had more than a few hours down time together, the mornings that came after a evening of Thai takeout and Community marathons, the mornings when Phil turned off his phone and Clint hung up his bow and they traded lazy kisses and even lazier touches that led to nothing but more lazy touches because they had all day. They could take their time.

On those mornings Clint went back to just watching Phil. There were no suits. No sunglasses. No headsets. It was just Phil--stubble sprinkled with gray, glasses that highlighted the laugh lines around his eyes, soft gray t-shirt that was more cuddly than badass, and an expression of such tenderness and contentment and love that sometimes Clint couldn't breathe. Because Clint recognized that look, knew that it mirrored his own. It was a look that said, "I love you." And, "This is home." And, "I still can't believe you want me."

And Clint was a selfish enough bastard to hope that he got to see that look everyday for the rest of his life.


End file.
